KITTEN OF THE REGIMENT.

THIS kitten, sir, of the Colonel’s? I’ll tell the story. We were at Roanoke, a month ago. Waiting the fleet, and camped the hill-side white. One night, when sentinels were all at post, We lay around the fires and talked of home. The smoke wreathed up into the still blue sky, The wind was whist, and all the stars shone clear— Just such a night as sleeps above the hills Of old New England when the frosts are hoar— Talking not aloud, but soft, as soldiers talk, After some months o’ the rolling drum and sight Of blood. The sentinel’s sudden challenge came: “Halt! Who goes there?” We all leaped up and harked. “Only Doll Brewster, sir; I’ve brought my kitty.” What! a child’s voice?—a child at bayonet’s point? Shame! Let her pass. Into the fire-light then, Led gently by two brave, kind soldier-boys, Blushing, with downcast eyes, and pretty lip Half-curled to cry, hair loose and all like gold, A kitten on her breast, walked sweet Doll Brewster. Well, sir, the regiment came on the run; And such a wall of ’em, all of ’em looking down At a ten-year girl, hair loose, lip curled to cry, And a kitten, white as snow, curled under her chin. “Just like my sister!” cried one; “And mine!” cried another, Till the fire began to look dim to all of us. Then, sir, the Colonel came, with his sword a-clanking. “What’s this?” he cried, but stopped, and his face grew soft. “Please, sir,” said Doll, “I’ve brought you my little kitty, It’s all I had, and Papa is sick and poor. (Mamma, you know, is dead.) We’re Northerners, sir, And brother died for the flag. I loved him so! Please take my kitty; I want to give something, sir.” The Colonel? He stooped and caught her in his arms— Caught kitten and Doll, and kissed ’em both. He did! And every man of us would have done the same, And mighty glad of the chance. There wasn’t an eye Could hold its tears, nor cheek that had kept dry, And if it hadn’t been for the Colonel there, A hundred of us would have kissed the child. That’s all the story of the kitten, sir— The Colonel’s kitten and the regiment’s. We wouldn’t have a hair of it hurt for gold— Nor blood, if it came to that! Have you a sister? You know how a man can feel for a bit of a child With golden hair and eyes like the heaven’s blue; And she’d a brother who died for the old flag, too! Oh, sir, we dreamed of home the livelong night— Sisters and sweethearts, mothers, and wives and daughters. Never was sweeter sleep in a soldier’s camp. And all because that little bright-haired child, Doll Brewster, with a kitten on her breast Came up the hill, marched by the sentinel’s gun, Stood in the fire-light with her golden hair All loose, and pretty lip half-curled to cry, And said: “It is all I had. Please take it, sir— Please take my little kitty; I want to give something.”